


Still Not an Apology

by kentucka



Category: Strike Back
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s06e04, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29113722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kentucka/pseuds/kentucka
Summary: Mac's not great at handling his emotions, and this whole thing being undercover with the Vargas left him... unbalanced. He is a man of action, not words. Thankfully Wyatt is rather good at reading him, and happily lets him work it out in his own way.or: Mac is angry (at himself) and very gentle (with Wyatt).
Relationships: Thomas "Mac" McAllister/Samuel Wyatt
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Still Not an Apology

They checked into a cheap inn hovering on the edges of an industrial area at the outskirts of Budapest, while the Colonel and Jensen tracked down the next lead, picked the next location to ship off to. Mac threw his duffel into a chair, traded his boots for sneakers, and went for a midnight run. The streets were long and the unlit warehouses made for boring scenery, but that was all right with Mac. Something was itching under his skin, the ghost of a thought at the back of his mind. He tried to outrun it.

Like that ever worked. His shirt was soaked, his lungs burned, and his mind was blank, sure… except for that one moment. Those fucking sixty seconds.

_ Stay on mission. _

That’s exactly what he’d done. The Vargas’ paranoia had required a sacrifice. Only one of them could remain undercover, and his own chances had been better than Wyatt’s.

_ Stay in character. _

But that look of betrayal, of hurt on Wyatt’s face. The rage. Blood so warm on Mac’s hand he didn’t even feel it at first.

“Argh!” Mac yelled into the night, frustrated that he couldn’t stop replaying how the knife sliced into Wyatt’s side. He pushed forward, picking up the pace, feet pounding the asphalt so hard he could feel the impact in his thighs.

Of course it didn’t help.

When the inn came back into view, Mac slowed and stopped, hands braced on his knees while his breath heaved. He glared at the neon signs.

Fuck this.

*

“What are you doing here?” Wyatt stood there in only his briefs, mostly confused rather than angry at having been woken up - if the mussed sheets were any indication.

Mac shouldered past, fuming at himself. He shouldn’t be here, that was certainly true. But he was, because he had to, because his fucking brain wouldn’t leave him in fucking peace. And Mac was good at doing whatever the hell needed to be done.

Behind him, the door clicked closed. Wyatt’s bare feet padded closer.

When a hand touched his shoulder, Mac whirled around. Wrapped a hand around Wyatt’s neck, using it to shove Wyatt sideways and backwards in the direction of the bed.

“The fuck, Mac?” But Wyatt barely resisted, grabbing at Mac’s wrist mostly to stabilize himself.

Mac kept pushing, unable to explain himself, too pissed off to ever find the words. When Wyatt’s knees hit the bed, those blue eyes widened even more, breath hitched, and he folded down, suddenly looking  _ up _ at Mac for once.

That’s not what he wanted.  _ Mac  _ was supposed to--  
He planted his hand against Wyatt’s chest instead, kept shoving, kept following when Wyatt obediently scooted up on the bed. There were no more questions.

With his knees sinking into the mattress on either side of Wyatt’s hips, Mac let himself look for a moment. That expectant expression, like he knew, like he  _ dared _ Mac to follow through. Adam’s apple bobbing against the tips of Mac’s fingers. Muscles rippling because he strained upwards - not to unseat Mac but to look down at himself, at the hand Mac hadn’t moved.

Mac’s gaze snagged on the shadow of the stab wound, torn skin, unskillfully sewn, bruising starting to show in blue and purple hues. Burning-cold guilt sunk in his stomach.

Damn it! He’d done his fucking job, that’s all. It was necessary. Part of the mission.

Mac only noticed that he’d been leaning in, bending down, when his lips brushed Wyatt’s side. Just above the wound, feeling the skin there hotter and harder than it should be.

An explosive sigh left Wyatt, his fingers suddenly burying themselves in Mac’s short hair. Wyatt’s muscles jumped with each kiss, each rub of stubbly cheek across his abdomen. Mac licked the valleys between those muscles and loved the whine it drew from Wyatt, but even more he enjoyed the broken huffs of breath when he’d inevitably return to the injury he’d inflicted.

Mac glanced up, and lost his own breath at the sight of Wyatt’s eyes screwed tight and his head tilted back. Mac’s hand had slipped up, circling Wyatt’s throat again, and although there was no pressure behind it, it seemed to pin Wyatt to the bed rather effectively.

So fucking hot. The full beard and eyelashes even darker in the low light of the bedside lamp, and the contrast to his bright iris when he looked again drove Mac a little crazy.

He mouthed along Wyatt’s treasure trail, set his teeth against the hip bones just to see Wyatt shudder. Mac teased a fingertip of his free hand along the waistband of the briefs and got a gasp, lipped and licked up Wyatt’s sternum while his thumb pressed where his teeth had just been, and rode the twitch of Wyatt’s hips.

“Please,” Wyatt whimpered, softly scratching over Mac’s scalp and neck, “please more.”

Good enough. Mac hooked into the briefs one-handed and pulled, first one side, then the other, lifting the elastic carefully over Wyatt’s straining erection. Wyatt lifted his ass up to help but really just stayed where Mac had put him. Mac wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

The fabric was left to stretch across thick thighs, and Mac ran his hand up from briefs to abdomen, and down again. When he finally wrapped it around Wyatt’s cock, he looked up again to see Wyatt watching raptly. A very gratifying moan tore out of the man, and more followed that he didn’t fight to keep in, as Mac started moving and occasionally sliding his thumb over the sensitive head.

Maybe it was the lateness of the hour, the fact that he’d already been asleep before, but despite being usually rather talkative, now Wyatt stayed quiet aside from wordless moans.

Mac shifted down, licked a wet stripe up Wyatt’s cock, deliberately drooling a little. With the next slick pull of his hand, Wyatt started to whine, a soft and constant sound, fingers curling again in Mac’s hair.

Mac grinned to himself and nosed into the jugular notch, right under where his hand still sat circling Wyatt’s throat. His hand was pumping ever faster, and he kept himself busy with searching for all of Wyatt’s weak spots with his mouth. Sucking his nipples barely got a reaction, but  _ licking _ them, oh, Wyatt’s breath punched out at that. And his neck, of course, at the pulse point especially when he just brushed over it.

At a bite at the underside of his chin, Wyatt’s hips jerked and Mac felt a rush of precome slicking up his palm.

“You gonna come for me?” Mac murmured.

“Ah! Yes! Fuck!” Wyatt’s voice was too hoarse to be a proper yell.

Mac resumed licking and biting over the defined ab muscles, as close as he could without screwing up the angle of his hand where it twisted slightly on the down-strokes. He pressed soft kisses around the suture, licked his nipples. Wyatt’s hands in his hair always followed, never directed.

“Mac!”

It sounded rather like a warning, so Mac pulled up, pressed his head next to Wyatt’s. Tightened his fingers - one around his cock, the other around his neck - and licked his earlobe.

“Fuuuck--” Wyatt tipped over into orgasm with a keen.

Mac kept pumping, squeezing out spurt after spurt of Wyatt’s come, letting his hips twitch into the tunnel Mac’s fingers created. Wyatt’s mouth was open, but it took long seconds before he sucked in a large breath again, which Mac swore he could feel rushing underneath his fingertips.

Before it could become uncomfortable, Mac sat up slightly and grabbed the damp bath towel that had been tossed on the other half of the bed and forgotten, grateful that he had a better place to wipe his hand than the bedspread.

Wyatt’s panting slowed, his smile content. “Apology accepted.”

“Fuck you,” Mac snarled, anger surging up all at once, still refusing to apologize for having done his job. He tried to lift up, but Wyatt had a different idea, finally showing some agency, grabbing on and pulling, forcing Mac to face him. There Wyatt hesitated, seemed to search for something in Mac’s eyes, before he pulled again  _ down _ and brought their mouths together.

It was much softer than Mac had expected, more a thank-you than a reprimand.

Without meaning to, Mac melted into it. Just for a second. Let his tongue curl behind Wyatt’s teeth and allowed Wyatt to lazily map his gums.

This time Wyatt did not stop him when Mac dragged himself off, standing up next to the bed, resolutely ignoring how hard he’d gotten.

“It’s good to know,” Wyatt told his back. “You did what you had to, to continue the mission. But it’s good to know you didn’t enjoy it.”

Shit. Right. Mac looked back over his shoulder, caught Wyatt’s gaze, and gave a small shake of his head. “I really didn’t,” he whispered.

Wyatt blinked rapidly a couple of times. “And I trust you.”  
He scratched his chest absentmindedly, realized it was his drying come that started turning itchy, and grimaced with a rueful chuckle.

The quiet moment was broken. But that was fine, because this wild thing inside Mac’s mind had finally settled; he knew without a doubt that he’d actually be able to sleep now. And so, with a parting smile, he left.


End file.
